


Meek and the Bold

by road_of_ruin



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Heals, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8952334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/road_of_ruin/pseuds/road_of_ruin
Summary: While living in Newt's suitcase, Credence falls in love with Newt's newest magical creatures: a herd of unicorns.He's far from a pure soul, or a Magizoologist, but that doesn't stop him from writing all about them... and it doesn't stop the unicorns from proving that first perception utterly wrong.--(or, Credence being happy because unicorns)





	

He’d spent over a month in the suitcase when Newt brought them down. Prancing and glowing, in numbers that took his breath away, Newt herded them to their own special corner decorated with frosted trees that glittered with shining glass baubles and tinsel of many colors.

Credence hadn’t known what to think when he’d helped hang the decorations - for what magical beast could possibly be attracted to shining glass outside of the Niffler? - and his puzzlement only grew along with no short amount of awe as the herd moved by him like a thousand ringing bells, silver and gold and the purest white, even the snows they trampled could not match.

“Unicorns,” Newt said, unneeded, gesturing grandly to the lot - two dozen at least, of all shapes and sizes and ages - and hooked a scarf around Credence’s neck as it started to snow.

“Happy Yule,” he finished with, like he was answering a question, before briskly walking away, leaving Credence alone with pricked ears and misted breaths and bell like neighing that echoed and Credence’s confusion was complete.

After all, there was no way Newt had just gifted _Credence,_ the Nothing, a herd of _unicorns._

But upon returning to his small hut for dinner, he found a book waiting for him near his crackling fire and bowl of stew and _oh,_ maybe they _were_ his after all.

The book was simply called _The Preservation and Conservation of Unicorns_ by someone named Havelock Sweeting. It was a plain text, stating the importance of caring for the dwindling population of the magical beasts as well as plans for unicorn reservations throughout Britain. General information on unicorns was also provided, explaining the silver and gold he’d seen on the smaller equines, and it slowly consumed his mind, filling it with thoughts of bells and glowing snow.

Credence read it in a night, awed by the information, though it did little to settle the questions in his heart. Why had Newt taken in a herd of unicorns if there were reservations? Was it for his book? Why pass them along to Credence, besides? Was he to care for them?

It couldn’t be _for_ Credence, he decided, and determined to spend time in the unicorn habitat to see to their care. And in doling out sweet grain and hay for the herd the following morning as per instructed by the ever distracted Newt, he stood for hours awed by their grace and speed as they raced through the snow. Their glistening hides lit upon the glass balls and tinsel, making it shine, and it occurred to him, slowly, the way one falls asleep, that in the presence of these creatures, in a place so far removed from where he was raised… it was the closest to a feeling of _Christmas_ as he’d ever felt.

After the third day of watching them, of being filled with such _light_ and _warmth_ and _wonder_ to the point he could hardly breathe, nor feel the dark shred of the Obscurial he’d once been, he shyly asked Newt for pen and paper, and spent a frustrating night getting the hang of writing with quill and ink.

In the morning, a safe distance from where he’d set the food down, he sat and _wrote._ It stated with facts from Sweeting’s book then morphed into observations he made of the herd life.

The stallions, he noted, were not in charge. The first to eat, the first to move off, the first to bed down… it was all a mare. And she was beautiful, he added in brisk writing - the only thing Ma had done for him worthwhile, teaching him to read and write, even if it was merely to copy the New Salem leaflets - the brightest white, the tallest, and most shining of the group of females.

There was one stallion in charge of the other stallions, who numbered a mere four next to the ten mares, and he was the strongest, most clever, and sported the longest silver horn. Credence noted too, with growing, feverish excitement, that the stallions proved their rank by horn size, rather than by fighting. The horn seemed to equal more than the crown of their breed, it was a status symbol, reflecting age, health, and strength.

Their coats were similar. The healthiest of them glowed against the white snow. A few, a bit thinner, didn’t glow at all, though Credence was pleased to note they were regaining their weight and shine as the days passed. The foals were hornless, golden from the tips of their ears to the bottom of their hooves, and sported small silver patches of hair where their horns would one day grow.

They looked fluffy the way clouds did, Credence wrote, and were swift the way the wind blew. Their playful calls were tiny, golden bells that jingled with their footsteps. And they were utterly fearless where their elders were cautious, enticing games of chases and rough housing with even their silver hided siblings, nearly twice their size and age and with the nubs of horns coming in.

But it was in that fearless quality that they took a shine to Credence too.

It was a little princess that came first, white eyes curious as she sniffed the back of Credence’s neck, ruffling the hairs stubbornly growing out of the harsh cut from what had been his life before. Her twin, a tiny prince that Credence had secretly named Emmanuel, followed her, as ever, but approached Credence from the front to sniff Credence’s face, then gently, with the softest velvet lips, nibble on his nose.

And Credence cried, for such a pure creature had no right touching him, seeing him, let alone breathing in his presence. Silent, ugly tears that fell like shining stars, caught in the glow of twin eyes full of heavenly light. He doubled over, sobbing, and Emmanuel pulled back, ears pricking at such a sound, so shattered and darkly heartbroken where there had only been bells before. But instead of being repelled by Credence’s darkness, his perversions and pathetic soul, the babies only stepped in closer, a princess behind him, a prince in front, and two quivering noses against his skin.

Slowly, painfully, his sobs turned to laughter. It hurt, his chest constricting under where he’d been pieced back together from being blown apart, and it was another ugly sound, uncertain and strangled and new.

But somehow… they knew. Knew it was happiness, broken but _there,_ and whickered into his hair, his neck, his chest, shining bells against his heart.

Then a puff of misted breath blew against his face, mint and grass, and snow, and he looked into the glowing eyes of the lead mare.

This close, he could see her age, the cracks in her horn, the long hairs on her muzzle, quivering like a cat’s whiskers. He held his breath as she sniffed him, lipped at his clothes, then regarded him with that ageless, wise gaze she held.

Captivated, he stood when she pulled on his scarf and he followed her to the herd. They all watched him approach and he shrunk into himself, a spot of blackness amongst their glowing numbers, but somehow, for once, his freakishness did not matter, and they called to him like he was a lost foal who wandered off too far, one of them.

“There’s been some mistake,” he said to the mare, tears freezing to his cheeks as they trembled from his eyes, catching like icicles in his lashes. “Don’t you know who I am?” _the monster I was?_

Emmanuel rubbed against his side and his white eyes looked up at Credence. No, he realized, they knew. And they didn’t _care._

 _Only the pure of heart may touch a unicorn,_ Sweeting had written, _for only the purest of souls can live in the breast of a unicorn. They know your heart, and any shred of darkness will repel them._

Either the great wizard had been wrong or… _no,_ Credence thought desperately, he had to have been wrong. There was nothing pure or good or light about Credence. Was there?

Emmanuel’s head bumped his palm, startling him, and _oh,_ how soft he was. Little lips nibbled his fingers as he stood stock still, stunned to silence, trembling and hunched in on himself amidst the tall and proud creatures surrounding him, and tears fell anew as more foals came to sniff and bump him, unafraid.

He collapsed into the snow, sobbing, laughing, heartbroken and joyful all at once. He felt like he was being broken apart all over again, only this time the spells weaving him back together again were far sweeter, kinder, gentle and wise, and he knew, somehow, he knew there’d been no mistake.

He was unworthy, a carrier of death and doom, but even that shred of black inside his heart fled away to nothingness as the babies played around him, as the herd grazed and the mare looked on, content with her choice as his skin knitted back together, holding in his insides, full of light and something fragile he was scared to hold close.

And as he sat, completed, in their midst, he felt hope light in his chest, a fluttering dream full of _maybe’s_ and _one days_.

Newt found him in the snow, dusted with snowflakes and unicorn kisses, and asked him, bewildered, if he was alright.

And Credence knew, for the first time, that maybe, possibly, he really _was_ alright.

And so he smiled.


End file.
